


Stepping into the Light

by thepinupchemist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Bottom Castiel, College, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Librarian Castiel, M/M, School, Student Dean, Studying, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At twenty eight, Dean decides to enroll in college. No one told him that the campus librarians could be so hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> for super-harkness on tumblr.

**Soundtrack: A Night at the Library – Scorpio Loon**

**_Stepping into the Light_ **

Going back to college after years of working odd jobs – car mechanic, electrician, bartender, construction – is weird. Dean is twenty eight and he feels like he’s an old man in a sea of teenagers on the KU campus, all of them bright-eyed and excited about starting a new chapter of their lives. Hell, he’s excited about that too, he’s just quieter about it. And maybe he’s less up for late-night drinking and party games than the average college student.

Does that make him boring? He can’t decide.

If the definition of boring is wanting to focus on studying – the whole reason he’s racking up debt by the thousands – instead of partying, then fine, he’s boring.

On one Friday night in October of Dean’s freshman year in college, he goes to the library. Sam is banging around their apartment being loud with his kind-of-girlfriend Jess, laughing and talking and flipping on the TV. Dean, meanwhile, has a speech to put together for his public speaking class, and he’s nervous as hell. He doesn’t know why he decided to enroll in a public speaking class. No, he does. He did it because he didn’t want to take a foreign language (having had intense flashbacks to high school-level Spanish tests marked up to hell in red ink) and public speaking was the only thing that could get him out of that shit show.

So, Dean packs all his crap into his backpack, shoves his boots on his feet, throws his leather jacket over his shoulders and tells Sam and Jess that he’s heading to the campus library to take care of a project. Sam gives him a lazy salute and turns to Jess with the kind of smile that tells Dean _stay far, far away for as long as you can._

He throws his backpack into the passenger’s seat of the Impala and slides in on the driver’s side. The smell of his baby’s interior and the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd leaking from the tape deck relaxes him, has him singing along all the way to campus. Dean dishes out money for parking and heads out.

The KU campus is empty at this time of night, even though there are a handful of people that take night courses. Most of the students are out and about enjoying the freedom of their weekend – or otherwise procrastinating and pointedly ignoring homework.

The speech that Dean is supposed to be giving is “an informative speech,” and their professor told them that they should speak about something they already know about but would like to learn more on.

Dean decides on classic cars.

Problem is, even with the class period spent in the campus library learning how to work the system and the computers, he feels like he can’t find a goddamned thing. It shouldn’t be that hard to dig up stuff on classic cars, right? Lots of people like classic cars.

“Is there anything that I can help you find?” a deep, gravel-thick voice says behind him.

Dean turns around, and –

_Damn._

“Um,” he manages, because that’s all that he can really get out in the presence of an actual, for-real hot librarian. He’s tall, dark-haired and _holy crap_ , his eyes are blue as _fuck_. He has thick-framed glasses sitting crookedly on the bridge of his nose, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows.

The man is a walking plate of sex, and Dean has no freaking clue how he’s supposed to deal with this on a Friday night.

He coughs, scratches the back of his neck, and says, “Uh, yeah. I’m looking for some stuff on classic cars? I have to find ‘sources,’ or whatever for my public speaking class.”

The librarian’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree and he says, “Not a problem at all. Let’s check on the computer.”

So, Dean wanders behind hot-librarian-dude like a lost puppy and waits for him to log onto one of the library computers and navigate through the database, probably with more success than Dean did.

“So, are you a senior?” the librarian asks.

Dean licks his lips and glances at his boots self-consciously. He answers, “Nah. Freshman. I’m just coming back to school.”

Over the tops of his glasses, the librarian stares at him. His lips quirk up in a half-smile and he says, “I think it’s excellent that you made that decision. Have you chosen a major yet?”

“Yeah, architecture,” Dean replies.

The librarian hums and keeps at the computer.

After only a handful of minutes, the librarian looks up, bright-eyed, and says, “Looks like we’ve got lots of books in house on the subject. Are you looking for a specific car or just classics in general?”

“Maybe narrow it down to Chevrolet,” Dean adds.

“Of course,” he says, long fingers flying over the keyboard, “Aha. Yes. Follow me. I’ll pull some books for you.”

Dean does, and ends up with a stack of books in his arms, four total. One of them focuses on Chevrolet and the others are more general, but it’s just what he needs. A deep sense of relief fills him at having been able to get what he needed, and it’s all because of hot-librarian-dude.

“I hope they work out for you,” the librarian says.

“Hey,” Dean says, “Thanks. For helping out. What, um. What’s your name?”

“Oh,” the librarian says, and pushes his glasses up, “I’m Castiel. I suppose I should have said that earlier.”

“I’m Dean,” Dean responds, and holds out a hand. Castiel shakes it, and Dean adds, “Thanks again, man. You really saved my ass.”

“It’s my job, Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean huffs, “Yeah, well, you’re awesome at it. So thanks.”

“Anytime, Dean.”

**X**

After that, Dean may or may not make a point to say hi to Cas every time that he studies in the library. And fine, sue him, maybe he studies in the library a little more than he would have because he knows there’s somebody there that’s not only attractive but can help him if he needs it.

The rest of the semester whips by and Dean passes his classes with flying colors. He’s so excited by his GPA that he spills it to Sammy, and Sam gives him this puppy-eyed look of pride that has Dean telling him to “Knock it off,” before the entire moment turns into a feelings jam.

The new semester starts on Dean’s birthday, which would suck if he didn’t have an hour break between two of his classes to spend as he pleases. He uses the time to pop into the library, feeling a little deprived of hot librarians after the winter break.

Dean finds Castiel at his usual place on the second level of the library. When he turns and sees Dean, he smiles and waves, and Dean waves back.

“Hey Cas, how was your winter break?” Dean asks.

“It was all right,” Castiel answers, “I spent it with my family and was reminded of how irritating all of my brothers are. How was yours?”

Dean lets out a short bark of laughter and says, “Pretty good, dude. Me n’ my little brother ate like kings.”

They fall into a routine that semester just as they did in the last, laughing together from time to time, and chatting after most of the other students and employees leave to turn in for the night. Dean always stays until a few minutes after Cas’ shift ends, typically at midnight. He’s exhausted.

The smiles Castiel always gives him when Dean says hello make the exhaustion and all the extra money spent on parking totally freaking worth it.

**X**

A Saturday afternoon in April finds Dean at the kitchen table in his and Sammy’s small apartment hunched over his history books. The final is soon, and he’s always sucked at history – but he needs to take the class for the gen ed credits. He rubs a hand over his face and reaches for his coffee, only to find it cold. Dean spits it back in the mug.

A beat later, the sound of keys jangling in the front door of the apartment signals Sam’s arrival back home from his breakfast date with Jess. He grins at Dean when he ducks into the apartment and greets, “Hey, how goes the studying?”

“Like crap,” Dean says. He bets that Castiel the librarian is good at studying. Probably graduated top of his class with all kinds of stoles and medals and honors and knows American history like the back of his hand.

Castiel.

Maybe he could help?

Maybe studying at the library could help, where it’s  quiet and there are good-looking librarians to stare at during study breaks.

“I think I might go to the library,” Dean says out loud.

“Oh, cool,” Sam says, “Hang on a sec and I’ll come with. I should be studying too.”

When Sam disappears into his bedroom, Dean panics. If Sam comes with him, he might meet Cas. And if Sam meets Cas, he might like him. Castiel is like this _thing_ that Dean gets to have all to himself, a sexy librarian with chronic bedhead and this voice like whiskey and broad shoulders and tan skin, all in contrast with his rumpled shirts and sweater vests. He feels like a kid that doesn’t want to share his new toy, because damn it, he doesn’t want to have to share Cas.

“All right,” Sam says, and materializes beside Dean with his backpack looped over his giant shoulders.

“Yeah, let me pack up my crap,” Dean says.

“You okay?” asks Sam.

Dean says, “I’m okay. I’m just real bad at studying like this.”

“You’ll make it, dude,” Sam assures him, “You did great last semester and you’ll do it again.”

Dean opens his mouth to say that the only reason that he did a decent job last semester is because he had a smarty-pants librarian at his disposal to help him whenever he needed, and because none of his finals were anything like this. This is _hard_. And the one thing that Cas can’t do is take Dean’s tests for him.

Sam chatters throughout the drive to the library. Half of it sounds like lawyer-speak or possibly tongues and the other half is spent waxing poetic about Jessica and “Why don’t you date, dude?” Dean doesn’t bother tuning into any of what his brother says, and spends the ride in relative silence.

They tromp up the stairs to the library in much the same state, except now Dean’s anxiety about Sam meeting Cas starts to make his toes curl inside his boots and his lips turn down in a frown.

“Dean!”

Too late to hide, he supposes.

Cas treks out from behind the front desk with a lopsided smile on his face. Dean can’t help but echo it back, grinning like an idiot while his brother gives him serious side-eye.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says, “How’s your Saturday?”

“Busy,” he says, “Lots of stressed students looking for help on final papers.” With that, Castiel’s attention swings to Sam. His brows knit for a half-second, barely any time for the expression to be processed, before he looks back at Dean and asks, “Is this your…boyfriend?”

Sam casts Dean a sharp look at that.

In addition being Dean’s favorite librarian, Cas is one of the only people that he’s ever admitted his bisexuality to. It was almost the end of Cas’ shift, the hour teetering on midnight, and the words just slipped out. Dean hadn’t mean to make the confession, hadn’t meant to let it out. Cas just smiled and said he was glad that Dean felt comfortable enough to confide in him, and that he considers himself something that he calls pansexual. Dean didn’t know what that meant, and Cas was quick to explain that ‘pan’ meant ‘all’ and that he didn’t really have gender-based preferences.

Dean thinks that’s cool.

He sputters, “God, no, this is my brother.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, and slips back into that easy friendship, “You’re Sam, then. Dean’s told me all about you.”

Sam cocks a brow and says, “Has he?” as he shakes Castiel’s hand, “I haven’t heard much about you.”

In that moment, fratricide does not seem unreasonable. Dean gives Sam a kick to the shin.

Cas looks a little pained after that, but maintains his smile long enough to say, “There isn’t much to talk about, so I don’t blame him.”

Oh, how wrong he is. There’s so much to Cas, and Dean would bet his left nut that he hasn’t figured out even a quarter of it. He jumps to say, “Cas is being modest. He’s awesome.”

They part ways when girl in a beanie and overalls interrupts to ask if Cas can help her navigate the library database.

“That’s my cue,” he says to Sam and Dean, “Good luck with your studies.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean says. He follows the way that Cas walks as he follows the girl to the computer that she’s using and stoops over to give her a hand. Dean definitely does not notice the way that Cas’ pressed slacks tighten against his ass. Nope, not noticing that at all.

“All right,” Sam says, when they dump their belongings onto a free table, “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Dean asks.

“Don’t play dumb, asshole,” Sam says, “You’re what – best buddies with the librarian and you don’t mention a damn thing? C’mon, man. Is it – do you like him?”

“No,” Dean says too quickly.

Sam’s exasperated face falls into a smirk. He says, “Oh yes, you do.”

“No, I freaking do not,” Dean says back.

“Jesus, Dean, you’re not in high school,” Sam says, “You can tell people when you like them.”

“It’s not that easy,” he argues, albeit weakly.

“Yeah, man, it is that easy. Just say you have a boner for the dude.”

“Maybe if I did, I’d mention it to him,” Dean replies.

Sam holds up his hands and says, “Fine. If you’re gonna be that way, be that way. I’ve got crap to do and so do you.”

Dean swallows down another argument. Even if Sam isn’t right about Cas, he is right about the fact that they both have shit that they need to study for, and bickering isn’t going to get any of that done. Dean needs to buckle down and focus on this history crap, if only because if he weasels his way through it, he’ll never have to take another history class again.

As soon as Dean opens his history textbook, he tries to push Cas out of his head.

**X**

Dean doesn’t dwell on it. He passes his history final with a B-, which is better than he’s ever been able to do on a history test before, so he’s satisfied. His second semester of college comes to an official close and fades into summer. He’s happy for the break, if only because he’s not trying to memorize facts at the same time that he’s trying to put the frame of a freaking house together or hanging drywall or installing hardwood floors.

When they can, he and Sammy get out to fish, spending idyllic June days getting the heck bitten out of them by chiggers and mosquitos while they reel in the evening’s dinner. Other times, Sam is out with Jess, and Dean uses his alone time to veg out on the couch in his underwear, and watches old cartoon with a beer in hand.

By the time that registration creeps up on him, Dean is restless. Summer is great and all, but he wants to be back on campus and in his classes – and in the library, maybe, where there’s one librarian in particular that he’s pretty stoked to see.

On Dean’s first day as a college sophomore, the air is humid and the sidewalk underfoot so hot you could fry an egg on it. Dean sweats like a sinner in church under his cotton t-shirt and finds the day one of those days in which he wishes public nudity was socially acceptable. He’d kill to feel the breeze on his skin. All of it.

He arrives on campus early to scope out which buildings his classes are in and where he’ll need to go, and because he can, he visits the library. The joint is filled to the brim with students taking shelter from the late summer heat outside, and Dean has to push his way through a tangle of dudes in sagging pants to get to the stairs and make it to the second floor.

There, he spots Cas at his desk, brows knit in concentration as he stares at something on his computer screen. Dean grins and makes his way over –

Only, he’s cut off by some middle-aged blond dude carrying a Star Wars lunchbox. When Cas sees the guy, he smiles, but he can’t _smile_ at the guy, because that smile is supposed to be Dean’s smile, something precious that he can keep locked up in the back of his mind to be taken out on rainy days.

Castiel stands and blond-dude hands him the lunchbox. He ducks forward and kisses Cas on the cheek, and fuck. That’s it. Dean can’t watch this.

Just as Castiel’s eyes land on him, Dean swerves on his heel and charges back for the stairs, jaw set and angry, gut tied up in fraying knots, and head pounding with _you’re an idiot, Dean._

For the rest of the day, he goes through his new classes without much enthusiasm. Each one rolls out basically the same as the next – a professor drones on about the syllabus and the absence policy and how “this isn’t the kind of class you can brush off,” when they should know that every professor says that and nobody’s going to believe them.

By the time that Dean gets home, he’s beaten to the bone. He collapses face-first onto his bed and just wishes that, shit, the day didn’t go the way that it did. It was hot and miserable and boring and some asshole was going around smooching on Castiel.

The days that follow end the same way; miserably. Dean comes home from school or work and falls into his bed or slouches back on the couch with a finger of whiskey and sends a silent prayer to anyone that’s listening that the rest of the semester isn’t going to follow this shitty pattern.

As it happens, higher powers tend not to listen to Dean.

“Dean, what the hell crawled up your ass and died?” Sam demands.

Dean glances from the TV screen, swirls his whiskey glass, and replies, “Fuck you, that’s what.”

Sam narrows his eyes. He studies Dean without speaking, and it makes Dean feel uncomfortable, like a bug in a jar. He shifts on the couch and almost mutters at Sam to cut that crap out, but Sam speaks first. He questions, “Is that about that librarian guy?” A pause. “It is, isn’t it? Dean, for Christ’s sake, you like him. Why don’t you just tell him?”

Okay.

Dean tries to scrape up some anger at his brother, tries to think of something to shout. He comes up with nothing. He comes up with nothing, because Sam is right. He likes Cas. He likes Cas a whole hell of a lot, actually. He likes the way that Cas always smiles when Dean comes to see him, he likes the way Cas gets excited when he’s babbling about research, he likes the way that Cas’ hands look when they pull a book down from a shelf…he just likes it all. Dean even likes that ugly purple sweater vest Cas wore once.

Dean made fun of it, and Cas never wore it again. He feels a little bad now.

“He,” Dean starts, and swallows the knot in his throat, “He has a boyfriend.”

“What? Did you ask him out?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head, “I went up to go see him and this dude brought him his lunch and kissed him. I think that’s freaking evidence enough, don’t you?”

Sam’s expression softens. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and says, “I’m so sorry, man.”

“Don’t make a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Sam says, “I’m trying to be supportive. Now what do you say to a couple of rounds of drunk Jenga?”

“I’d say you’re on, bitch,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes and mutters, “Jerk.”

**X**

Dean avoids the library when he can, but he still has to use it from time to time. He tries his best to duck out of the way and behind shelves when he spots Castiel, and asks some of the other librarians for help if he needs it.

If he does see Cas, Dean acts like an idiot. He tries really fucking hard not to, but that just makes it worse. He stammers and turns red and goddamnit, this is not how he handles things. If he wants to coax somebody between the sheets, he always can. But that’s not the freaking problem here, is it? The problem isn’t that he wants to have sex with Cas (or rather, that’s not the only problem, because hell yeah, he wants to have sex with Cas); the problem is that Dean actually likes him. Romantically. In _that_ way.

And now Dean can barely get out as much as a hello when Cas talks to him. He hates how stupid he sounds. He imagines Castiel’s blond boyfriend is probably one of those intellectual types that drinks tea and reads Kerouac or whatever, and of course that’s exactly the kind of guy Cas would be into. Why the hell would he be into a dude like Dean, a construction worker with an affinity for whiskey and 1980s cartoons.

So he’ll just have to accept that.

The weeks slide by a little more easily once Dean’s accepted that Cas could never be into a guy like him. He’s doing all right in his classes – not as well as he could be doing, but not too bad considering how crappy he feels on a day to day basis.

Dean ends up with a project that he needs to do for his Mechanics class on the same night that Sam decides that he wants Jess over for the night. Instead of arguing, he lets them have their fun and takes all the crap he needs and throws it in his car.

He ends up at the library.

There, Dean finds a table in an unassuming spot, tucked into a nice corner situated far away from everybody. He dives headfirst into the project and tries not to think of his comfy couch at home, or the microbrews in the fridge, or his beautiful flat-screen television equipped with Netflix. Inch by inch, the project consumes him. He doesn’t even notice the sun go down, or the steady leak of students filing out, or that he’s practically all alone until a paper to-go cup nudges his hand.

Dean blinks up and sees Castiel. In one hand, he holds a second cup of coffee. He says, “You look like you could use this.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and tips back a sip. It’s plain old black, just like he likes it.

For an instant, time seems to freeze, and Dean considers telling Cas about how he feels. He fantasizes about Cas wrapping his arms around him and Dean finally getting to kiss those damn lips, and how good they might taste.

“Well,” Castiel says, awkwardly, “I guess I should go. Good luck on your project.”

Cas turns around, and Dean leaps up without thinking. He grabs Castiel’s wrist and says, “Hey, wait a minute.”

“What is it?” Cas asks, cocking his head to one side.

“I like you!” blurts Dean.

“You –”

“Crap,” Dean says, “I know you have a boyfriend and everything, but dang it, I just – I guess I just thought you should know.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Castiel states.

Dean frowns, “Blond guy? Brought you your lunch and kissed your cheek?”

Castiel inhales and says, “Oh, no. Balthazar isn’t my boyfriend, Dean. He’s my roommate. He just likes to be affectionate. I’m not. Um. I’m not attached, and I – I confess I find myself sweet on you too, I just thought –”

Dean cuts him off with a fierce kiss. Castiel makes a surprised noise at the contact but an instant later relaxes into the touch, curling his fist into Dean’s t-shirt and pulling him closer. At this distance, Dean can sense everything. He can taste Castiel’s coffee on his tongue, something sweeter than Dean’s plain black, can smell his aftershave and feel his soft hair and the scrape of his five o’clock shadow against his skin. It’s magnificent, and everything that he imagined it would be.

They only break the kiss when they finally have to breathe. Panting, Dean says, “Wow.”

“I agree,” Castiel murmurs, “You – your project. You need to do your project.”

Dean glances back at the slew of papers on the table. It’s almost done…he could just skip his first class of the day tomorrow and finish this up then. When he looks back at Cas and his disheveled clothing and haywire hair, he already know that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“I can finish it later,” Dean says, “You have a place? We should go to your place.”

The weight of Dean’s meaning seems to dawn on Castiel a beat later, and he says, “Yes. Yes, that sounds nice. I’m close – I usually walk –”

“Let me pack up my crap,” Dean says, “I’ll drive.” And with that, he yanks Cas into a second kiss, open-mouthed and bone-scorching. If he’s not careful, he’s going to get hard in his pants, and he doesn’t think that’s appropriate library conduct.

A flurry of paper and kisses later, Dean and Castiel stumble into the Impala, which Cas touches with a kind of reverence that strikes Dean down to the chambers of his heart. Any guy that looks at his baby like that is a worthwhile guy in his book.

Cas mumbles, “I’ve seen your car on campus before. I didn’t realize she belonged to you. She’s very lovely.”

“Damn, dude,” Dean says, “You have one hell of a way with words.”

This gets Dean a dry smile and an, “I try.”

True to his word, Cas’ apartment stands only a few blocks away from campus, a tidy brick building dotted with squat windows. Dean parks inside the area designated for visitors and scrambles to make it out of the Impala. He leaves his backpack behind in the trunk, forgotten.

As soon as he locks the car, Cas kisses him again. Dean strokes the inside of Cas’ mouth with his tongue and earns a rumble of approval before Cas pulls off of Dean’s mouth and peppers kisses along the blade of his jaw. He works his way steadily downward and nips at the sensitive skin on Dean’s throat.

Dean moans.

“Apartment,” Castiel says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.

They shove through the front door of the building, laughing as Cas runs up the stairs and Dean chases after him, making a grab at Cas’ ass that ends with him tripping in the stairwell and Castiel chuckling at his misfortune. They stumble all the way up to Castiel’s apartment on the fourth floor, where they end up making out against his door in between quiet, breathy laughter.

This is really happening.

Dean is really in Castiel-the-sexy-librarian’s apartment building, pinned to the door by the man himself. His tongue is inside Cas’ mouth. His hand is on Cas’ ass. He squeezes just to be sure of the last one, and Cas makes a pleased sound inside Dean’s mouth.

“We need to get inside,” Dean says.

Cas shoves his key into the door and they tumble through together, kicking off shoes between gropes and kisses. Dean’s first instinct is to go right for the neat little row of buttons on Cas’ shirt, but he knows there’s one question that he has to ask first before he can act on that: “Where’s your roommate?”

“Work,” Castiel answers, “Or maybe partying. Sometimes they’re the same thing. He manages the staff at a nightclub a few blocks from here.”

“Say no more,” Dean grins, and cups Cas’ face, cradling it between his palms before he plants a firm, tender kiss directly onto Castiel’s chapped lips. He tastes amazing, even better than Dean had hoped, and Dean wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in that taste and Cas’ smell and feel and just cover himself in _Cas_ for eternity.

Dean’s hands dive straight for the buttons on Cas’ checkered button-up and he undoes them with dexterity he didn’t even know he had, throwing the shirt off of Cas’ shoulders so that he can just feel his skin and breathe him in. Cas has the build of a runner, lithe and thin. His golden-tan skin has Dean leaning in to lick a line from his neck to his collarbone and down, down, down.

Dean scrapes his teeth over one, pink nipple.

Cas makes a strangled noise.

So Dean keeps teasing, lapping and sucking and nipping until Castiel starts to shake under Dean’s palms and says, “Bedroom, Dean. Please,” before he pushes Dean’s head back gently and tugs him along to the bedroom furthest back in the apartment.

The room is magnificent. Cas’ bedding is dark blue and masculine, and framed movie posters punctuate the walls all the way around. He can’t help but smile at it, and then smile at Cas – before he tackles Cas onto the mattress, pulling him forward. Dean pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it someplace on Cas’ floor, failing to really give a damn.

Underneath him, Cas is hard in his slacks, cock straining against the fabric. It makes Dean’s mouth water just a little with anticipation. He leans down and rolls his hips along Cas’, teasing noise out of both of them before he seals their lips together.

“Cas,” Dean says, “Top or bottom?”

“Um,” Castiel says, “Bottom. For now.”

“Perfect,” Dean replies, and pecks a final kiss to Cas lips before he moves his mouth down over the expanse of skin on his chest and abdomen. He noses at the coarse trail of hair that leads from Cas’ navel to the waistband of his slacks and presses a kiss to Cas’ belly. This earns a soft little whimper before Dean undoes Castiel’s fly and pulls his pants down and over his legs.

Cas in nothing but his underwear is probably the best thing that Dean has ever seen. Cas is hard, really hard, tenting the front of his striped boxer shorts. His face is flushed now, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and his lips parted as he breathes heavily.

“You look so freaking gorgeous,” Dean says, “You – you’re so awesome, Cas.”

A small, crooked little smile flickers onto Cas’ face and he says, “I think you’re very awesome too, Dean.”

The words send Dean into another lip lock, pushing his hands back through Cas’ messy hair and tugging up at it to pull Cas closer into the kiss. He presses his erection down into Cas, pumping his hips up and down while Cas grabs at his shoulder blades and kisses him like it’s going out of style.

“Dean, stop dawdling,” Castiel says, “I would like be fucked.”

Dean guffaws, “So damn polite,” but he moves back to unbutton his jeans anyway, and tugs those down with his boxer briefs in one go. He watches Cas’ eyes drop down between his legs and fixate on his erection.

“Like what you see?” Dean teases and bounces his eyebrows.

Castiel snorts but says, “Yes. I, um. You look very nice naked. I think you would look even nicer if you were naked and also on top of me.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Dean says, and jumps onto Castiel’s mattress with a wicked smile. Their mouths connect in a happy, sloppy kiss that Dean only pulls back from to ask, “You got lube and crap?”

Cas groans and wiggles out from underneath Dean to lean over the edge of his mattress and reach underneath his bed. He tosses a mostly-full bottle of lube up at Dean, who catches it one-handed, and surfaces with a condom packet between his teeth.

Dean doesn’t waste a second. He leans in and takes the condom out from between Cas’ teeth, setting it aside on the bedding before he makes a grab for Cas’ boxer shorts and throws them off of his body.

Castiel wholly naked is without a doubt the most awesome thing ever. He’s uncut, flushed up against the gentle slope of his stomach. He looks like the centerfold spread in a naughty magazine, all spread out and needy-looking. It makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey,” Dean says, and brushes the backs of his knuckles over the front of Cas’ thigh, “Just for the record, you look pretty awesome naked too.”

With those words, Dean cracks open the lube and drizzles a healthy dollop onto his hand, slicking his fingers evenly before he reaches to part Cas’ legs with his free hand, propping them apart on the bed. When the tip of his finger touches to Castiel’s entrance, Cas throws his head back against the pillows and lets out a happy sigh.

Dean slides his finger all the way in and presses against Cas’ prostate.

“Damn,” Cas says, voice already sex-wrecked with just one finger inside of him.

With careful precision, Dean works Cas open. He teases with the first finger before he works himself up to two, and smirks at the sound that rips from Cas’ throat when he starts stretching in earnest. Cas looks amazing with his legs all spread and his ass opening up under Dean’s touch.

Cas is trembling just a little. It makes Dean lean up to kiss the inside of his thigh and rasp, “S’okay, I got you.”

Two fingers grows to three and trembling goes to squirming. Cas clutches at the bed sheets beneath him and moves up into the touch of Dean’s fingers, pleading. God, Dean needs this. He didn’t know how good this was going to be and now it’s all right in front of him and he feels like his brain is just about to _explode._

Dean withdraws his hand and Cas makes an indignant whining noise.

“Shh, just a second,” Dean says, snatching the condom from its place at his side and ripping open the packet. He rolls it on over his cock and fumbles with the lube to get himself nice and slick. He doesn’t want to hurt Cas.

Dean lines himself up and Cas hooks his legs around Dean’s waist, urging him to faster.

“Hang on, hang on,” Dean says. He starts to press in, head of his cock swallowed by tight, overwhelming heat. Nothing should be allowed to feel this good. It’s incredible, the way that Cas’ body takes him in and the way that Cas himself just moans and sighs and asks for more in that odd, polite way of his.

Dean props himself up and pulls out, allowing a shallow thrust back in. A shudder rattles his ribcage and he hangs his head. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep himself in check and be careful with Cas at first, moving his hips up and down in tidy, rhythmic thrusts.

“Harder, please,” Cas says.

There’s really no way to say no to that. Dean slams back into Cas’ body and Cas keens, tightening his legs’ hold on Dean’s waist and urging him to do it again. Soon the softness to their tumble morphs into hard, quick pistons of his hips, sweat and moans and bites and scratches to each other’s skin. Dean feels the build start low in his belly, warming his limbs from the inside out, and reaches down to curl his fingers around Cas’ erection.

He tries to pump in time with his thrusts but he’s so close that his movement becomes erratic. But damn it, Dean is a gentleman and he’s not going to come before Cas does. That is just not how he rolls, all right?

And when Cas lets go with a gasp of, “ _Shit_ , Dean,” and spills his release in white ropes across his abdomen, Dean comes harder than he ever has in his life, pressing his body into Castiel’s one last time before he lets himself go with a broken noise.

It takes a minute for Dean to come down from his orgasm. When he does, he realizes that Cas’ fingers are threaded through his hair, petting over his scalp. Dean tries to mumble a thank you of some kind, but it just ends up coming out as a garbled, sleepy noise.

“Dean,” Cas’ gruff voice comes from somewhere.

“Mm.”

“I need to get up so I can clean us up,” he says.

Dean groans and shifts out and off of Castiel. He feels cold all at once and makes a sound of complaint when he hears the bed springs squeak and Cas’ footsteps padding away. When a warm, damp sensation hits his stomach, he cracks open his eyes and sees Cas mopping up sweat and come from his skin with a washcloth.

“You should probably spend the night,” Castiel suggests.

“Mm,” Dean says again.

Cas chuckles and the mattress sinks beside Dean. A beat later, Cas’ arms wrap around Dean and his lips brush against the sweat-damp skin on Dean’s neck.

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“You think you’d like to go on a date? The drive-in has a noir marathon showing on Friday.”

“Sounds awesome,” Dean mumbles.

The last thing that Dean feels before he falls asleep is the touch of Castiel’s lips to the skin just beneath his ear, and steady breath on the back of his neck.


End file.
